


Dance Upon the Waves

by ignipes



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, My Chemical Romance, Panic At The Disco, The Academy Is...
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-23
Updated: 2008-03-23
Packaged: 2017-10-21 23:17:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignipes/pseuds/ignipes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon swears this is the last time he's going to take treasure-hunting advice from a giant turtle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Just before dawn, the morning was clear and quiet. Brendon climbed onto deck, yawned and stretched and stumbled over to the rail. The ship was anchored at Port Royal, waiting for the sun to rise and the tide to change. A few lanterns glinted in the morning darkness, but most of the town was a sleepy jumble of close buildings and tendrils of smoke. It was his favorite time of day, when the town was still sleeping off the previous night but wouldn't be much longer, when nothing had happened yet but it could, it _would_ , just as soon as the sun came over the horizon.

"I love fish."

Brendon blinked and rubbed his eyes. He looked up and around first, because the sky was always full of gulls in the morning. Port Royal was pretty much seagull heaven, what with all the dead and rotting stuff floating around in the water.

"Love it, love it, love it," the voice sing-songed happily. "Fish, fish, fish."

There were no gulls perched nearby, so Brendon looked down. Water was slapping quietly against the side of the ship several feet below, and in the early morning gloom he could just make out a large shadow below the surface. He waited for the shadow to emerge from the water before calling down, "Hello. How are you?"

The giant turtle angled its big square head upward and worked its beaky jaw. "Fish is splendid," the turtle said, gurgling a bit over the words.

"It really is," Brendon agreed. Turtles were fun to talk to, always cheerful and friendly, but their conversation topics tended to be a little limited. "What kind of fish are you eating this morning?"

"The good kind," the turtle said. Its huge flippers sliced quietly through the water as it rolled over. "Not as good as the fish in the cave with the shiny things, but still good."

"Oh, well, that's--" Brendon stopped. "The cave with the shiny things?" Ocean animals didn't talk about shiny things unless there were a lot of shiny things to talk about, and a lot of shiny things meant only one thing: treasure.

Brendon loved treasure. It was one of the best things about being a pirate, after the sailing and the cannons and the awesome hats.

"Flowers and sparkles and pretty rocks and shiny things," the turtle said dreamily, blinking its dark, ancient eyes. "And very tasty fish."

"Where is this cave?"

"By the island with the blue rocks," the turtle said. "The island with the blue rocks near the island with the green rocks and the other island with the warm pink rocks."

It was about the kind of answer Brendon expected. Sea turtles were fun to talk to, but they didn't have the best grasp of geography, not unless one could navigate entirely by water temperature and coral color. They saw the entire ocean as a palette of different colors and sometimes spent hours arguing about the precise shade of blue-green of different ocean currents.

"Wait," he called out as the turtle started to swim away. "Do you mean it's near the island with the dark green rocks and the shipwreck around the east, I mean, the cold side?"

"That's the one," the turtle said. "Have a nice day. Fish is delicious."

"You too," Brendon said. "Good luck fishing." He waved good-bye even though the turtle was already underwater again, swimming gracefully away.

"Who are you talking to?"

Brendon dropped his hand to his side. "I, um. Nobody, Captain. Nobody. Just a giant sea turtle."

"Oh. Was it talking back?" Captain Ross was smiling, squinting a little in the golden light from the rising sun, and there was a real peacock feather stuck in his hatband.

Brendon didn't sigh, but he really wanted to. Captain Ross was another one of the best things about being a pirate.

Captain Ryan Ross was pretty much the best pirate captain ever, even if you didn't take his fantastic hat collection into account. When Brendon left home to sail the high seas, he'd spent a lot of time on ships where the captains and crews were... Well. They were not good. Not good in general, sometimes very bad, and occasionally very, very bad. Some were very, very bad enough that Brendon had nearly given up and gone home, even though it would have meant a lot of groveling, a lot of admitting that he was wrong and his father was right. Worst of all, it would probably mean getting sent away to a monastery and never sailing again.

But one night he was down to his last quarter-pint of watered-down grog in a tavern in Bridgetown, trying to work up the courage to start asking about ships to England, when somebody sat down across from his and said, "You're a navigator, right? We need a sailing master. We were almost halfway to fucking Cape Town before anybody noticed. We really, really need a navigator. You want in?"

Brendon had recognized the man across from him. His name was Brent and he'd been cook on a ship Brendon sailed with a few months ago. He was a decent guy, as far as Brendon recalled, so Brendon finished the last of his grog and asked, "What ship?"

It took him a couple of seconds to understand that Brent's answer was actually the name of the ship, not just a vaguely uninformative description. It took another couple of seconds for Brendon to admit to himself just how much he did not want to go back to England.

"I'm in," he said.

Two years later, he was still in. It was by far the longest Brendon had ever stayed with one ship, but the _Pretty Odd_ wasn't like any other ship he'd sailed on. They were pirates, sure, but they spent more time making up sea chanteys than they did looting and pillaging. Captain Ross didn't really like violence, and he was kind of picky about the things he wanted to steal. He loved silk and jewels but didn't much care for gold except as a means for buying things. The only reason they ever stole gold was because First Mate Smith was always saying things like, "We're not all delicate fucking flowers who can live on silky fabrics and ivory brooches, Ryan. Stop being a fussy prick." Then Zack the boatswain would lean over and whisper to Brendon, "Sometimes it's hard to tell which of them is really the captain, isn't it?" and Brendon would laugh, because it really was.

Ryan also let Brendon pick their course like he honestly trusted Brendon to navigate, and he pretended to be annoyed but always gave in when Brendon begged to be allowed to fire the cannons. He never flogged his crew and never threw anybody overboard that he didn't fish back out a few minutes later, he always made sure the men (and women) had food to eat and rum to drink, and the only time his crew had ever burnt a town to the ground it was a complete accident.

(The fire incident had happened just a few weeks after Brendon came on board, and it was totally Brendon's fault. It's not like he had any way of knowing somebody would leave a lantern just sitting around in a pile of hay waiting to be kicked over. But it was stupid, so stupid, and at the time he had been new enough and wary enough of the way _Pretty Odd_ operated to be absolutely certain the captain would order him beaten or locked in the brig, so he'd briefly considered hiding in the swamp with the mosquitoes until the ship sailed away and forgot all about him.

His plans were thwarted when First Mate Smith appeared out of nowhere, grabbed his arm and said, "What the hell, you want to wait around until the townspeople decide to roast you too?" Back at the ship, nobody said anything about it except to tell Brendon stories about how the crew of the _The Black Parade_ accidentally burnt down entire towns like every other month, and to jokingly warn him to watch his step every five minutes or so for the next few weeks.)

All in all, life on the _Pretty Odd_ was--well, it was really fucking weird, but it was a good life. Some days Brendon even thought it might be perfect, if it weren't for a few small things.

"The talking turtle?"

Like that.

Brendon said, "Turtle?"

"The one you were talking to?" Ryan was still smiling, that tiny smile he always wore when he was teasing Brendon. Ryan's one flaw--okay, he had a lot of flaws, up to and including an unnatural obsession with his crew's clothing choices, but one of his flaws that _mattered_ was that he refused to believe Brendon could talk to animals, or that animals often talked back. It was a little bit inconvenient.

"The turtle. Yeah. Nice guy. Or girl." Brendon frowned thoughtfully. "It's hard to tell, with turtles."

"You could ask," Ryan said, still teasing.

"I think that might be rude," Brendon replied. "I don't like to pry."

"Oh, please, you love to pry."

"I don't like to pry into turtles."

"Fair enough. So where are we going next?"

Brendon couldn't help it, he just smiled like a big idiot. Brendon could forgive Ryan an endless amount of stubborn disbelief and teasing as long he trusted Brendon to decide where they were going. Brendon knew Ryan mostly didn't care where they went as long as there were seas to sail and pretty silk shawls to steal from wealthy merchants' daughters, but it was still brilliant, to have the captain's trust like that. (The merchants' daughters were always inexplicably upset when pirates wanted to steal their jewelry and accessories, but not kidnap them. Brendon did not understand wealthy merchants' daughters at all.)

"I have... I have an idea," Brendon said slowly. He had to improvise when his information came from sea creatures, but he was good at it by now. "I heard somebody talking about something. At The Decadence, talking about an island." The Decadence was the rowdiest, filthiest, busiest pub in Port Royal, and the best place in all the West Indies for collecting gossip and stories. Most of the stories weren't true, but a surprising number of them were. Brendon still secretly believed there were dragons on the Mosquito Coast.

"What island?" Both Brendon and Ryan turned their heads; it was First Mate Smith. He was holding a metal cup in one hand. "Jon has coffee," he said, taking a sip.

"Oh, coffee," Ryan said. "I love Jon." He pushed back from the rail and wandered away, peacock feather dancing in the morning breeze.

Brendon frowned at the captain's retreating back and wondered how lame it would look if he followed. He loved coffee too. And Jon, he was alright. Jon had technically come on as their new cook after Brent retired from a life of piracy to raise sugar cane on Tobago, but after a few months the crew unanimously elected him to be quartermaster instead. (He still made the coffee because he was better at it than anybody else.) Yeah, okay, Brendon kind of loved Jon too. He was friendly and fair and mediated disputes so smoothly people usually decided it just wasn't worth the effort of fighting if Jon was going to step in. It was impossible not to love Jon. Brendon couldn't really hold it against the captain.

"Hey. What island?" First Mate Smith nudged Brendon's arm and smiled.

First Mate Smith--"Oh my god, Brendon, seriously, you've known me for two years, you're allowed to call me Spencer"--was another one of the best things about being a pirate. He knew everything there was to know about sailing and pirating, he was always the first one of speak up when the captain's plans were sure to get them all killed, and he was the only person on board who loved firing the cannons as much as Brendon did.

It was also physically, _literally_ impossible not to smile when Spencer was smiling, so Brendon's frown vanished. "It's the best kind of island," he said. "A treasure island."

"Yeah? Where is it?"

"It's, um, near Antigua, I think," Brendon said. At least, it was if he had understood the turtle correctly. Brendon's ideas were usually correct; there was a reason he was such a good navigator. "I'm going to have to look at the maps."

Spencer seemed happy about that; he really loved his maps. He could spend hours poring over them, adding things from places they'd been and marking down numbers in a book, and he wouldn't even realize how much time had passed until somebody came down below decks to tell him that Captain Ross was painting roses over the gold plating on the figurehead again.

"You know he's gonna say yes no matter where you want to go," Spencer said. He looked pointedly over Brendon's shoulder toward where Ryan had disappeared, then looked just as pointedly back at Brendon. Spencer had very pointed looks without even trying. They were practically sword-like.

"I guess," Brendon sighed. He let himself wallow in self-pity for exactly half a minute before he straightened his shoulders and said, "Why are you lollygagging around doing nothing, Mister Smith? We've got sail to set and treasure to find."

Spencer laughed, and they went to work as the sun rose over Port Royal.

~

  
The the winds were strong and the crew was in good spirits as they sailed south of Hispaniola. Their last escapade before the stopover in Port Royal had been a rousing success (due more to Dusty and Katie's ability to charm naïve merchants' sons out of their gold than to any real pirating ability aboard the _Pretty Odd_ , but the crew still counted it as a win) and nobody seemed very concerned that Brendon was a bit vague about where they were going.

The captain only waved his hand in what he probably through was an imperial manner when Brendon told him the plan, leaving Brendon alone to his charts and sextants. And it wasn't that strange, really, because Brendon was the sailing master and it was his duty to worry about things like where to go and how to avoid jagged reefs.

It was just that navigating didn't usually involve Brendon trying very hard not to crane his neck looking over his shoulder to where the captain and a bunch of other people were sitting on the forecastle smoking and laughing and playing connect-the-stars or whatever it was they did when they were together. Brendon was _awesome_ at connect-the-stars; one time he traced out the entire _Last Supper_ in stick figures and acted it out with all the voices too. (Everybody agreed his Judas voice was chillingly traitorous.) But he didn't really feel like waltzing on over, pulling up a piece of deck and inviting himself into their little _party_. The captain always looked so surprised when he did, like he couldn't quite figure out what Brendon was doing hanging around, then Brendon always felt like an idiot, and he spent the entire time pretending he wasn't noticing when the captain wasn't noticing him. It was awkward all around, so he stayed where he was and decided to chat with the dolphins instead.

There were dolphins swimming alongside the ship. Most sailors thought dolphins were good luck, and Brendon never had the heart to tell them otherwise. But one of the first things he'd learned after discovering he could talk to animals was that dolphins were not very nice, and they followed ships mostly because they wanted to see if there would be a battle or if somebody would fall overboard so they could laugh at him.

Brendon leaned on the rail and called down. "Hey, guys. What's going on?"

The dolphins were little more than silver flashes of motion in the dark water. "We saw the coolest shipwreck," one of them said. It was too dark for Brendon to see which one was talking. "The whole thing went under so fast, you wouldn't believe."

"It was so cool," another dolphin said. "There was fire and everything."

"Fire and _everything_ ," a third one piped up. "And booms."

"Big booms."

"Really big booms. There were bodies flying everywhere."

" _Everywhere_."

Brendon rolled his eyes. Dolphins were kind of bloodthirsty and mean. "Yeah? Sounds exciting." It sounded pretty awful, actually, and Brendon hoped it wasn't the ship of somebody he liked. "Say, you guys get around a lot, yeah?"

There was a chorus of obnoxious squeaking noises that meant the dolphins were laughing.

"We sure do."

"We get around a lot, man."

"If you know what we mean."

"I mean--" Brendon sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "I mean, you guys know your way around a lot of islands, right? Not just the ones where there's a lot of, uh, fire and booming."

"More than you'll ever know," one dolphin said, and the others laughed.

It took some time, but Brendon managed to get a pretty good idea where the turtle's Cave of the Sparkly Things was located. His guess had been right, the island wasn't on any map or chart he knew of, but the dolphins were certain. Dolphins, for all of their violent tendencies and malicious glee in the suffering of others, did not lie. They didn't know how. Lying was something only humans did.

"You're boring." It sounded like it would be shrugging if fins could shrug. "We're going to look for a battle."

Brendon bid the dolphins farewell and watched their silvery shapes vanish into the black water. The _Pretty Odd_ was well out of sight of land, and there were no other ships nearby. It had terrified Brendon the first time he crossed the ocean, the way the night was so absolute and the ship so very small. It wasn't until he looked up and began to make up names for the stars did he realize that it didn't matter how small the ship was, all that mattered was that the ocean had no boundaries, no limits to how far they could sail.

There was a burst of laughter from the forecastle, followed by the raucous singing of several voices painfully out of tune. Brendon turned quickly to join them--not even the very real danger of blushing horribly every time the captain looked at him would keep him from _singing_ \--but he hadn't taken more than three steps when he heard the smooth splash of the dolphins returning.

"There's another ship," a dolphin said. "Are you going to fight it?"

Brendon stopped in his tracks. "What? Where?" He scanned the ocean slowly with his naked eyes, holding up a hand to shade his eyes from the lantern-light behind him.

"We hope you fight it," said another.

A third put in, "We want _booms_."

"I don't see--" Brendon stopped. There. It was so faint he almost couldn't see it if he looked at it directly, but there was a light on the water to the north. It was still pretty far away. Either the dolphins were a lot faster than he knew, or he'd been staring at the stars for a lot longer than he realized. "Who is it?" Brendon wondered, feeling the familiar thrill of excitement and worry. He didn't really expect the dolphins to answer.

"It's the black ship," one of the dolphins replied.

Brendon looked down. "Which black ship? How can you tell in the dark?"

"We can tell," it assured him. "It's black all over, even the wings."

Brendon's nervousness began to fade. "Did you talk to anybody on the black ship?"

"We told the man we want them to fight you," a dolphin said, sounding positively gleeful about it. "You should shoot it with fire."

"That's what we told him to do. Shoot you with fire. He said maybe they would."

"That was nice of you," Brendon said, smiling. There were a lot of black ships on the ocean, and a few ships with black sails, but there was only one black ship with black sails _and_ a crew member who also conversed with animals. "But I don't think there will be a battle tonight, guys. They aren't our enemies."

"Oh." The dolphins were clearly disappointed.

"Sorry. But, hey, thanks for telling me."

"You can't shoot them with fire anyway?"

Before Brendon could answer, one of the lookouts bellowed a warning and the dolphins leapt away into the night. The lookout--it was one of the new kids they're taken on in George Town, Brendon couldn't remember his name but he was pretty sure it was Alex, because they all seemed to be named Alex--scrambled down the mainmast, shouting like an entire armada of ships was upon them. The singing stopped abruptly, and the deck shuddered with hurried footsteps as everybody still awake scrambled to see. Brendon took the steps to the forecastle two at a time. They were going to get all worked up over nothing.

"Shutter the lanterns," Ryan said sharply, and two men jumped to obey. "Maybe they haven't seen us yet."

"They know we're here," Brendon said, "but it's okay, really."

Nobody listened to him. The lanterns went dark, and there was only starlight and the yellow glow of the other ship, growing larger on the dark water.

"It's okay," Brendon said again as Ryan began to bark orders and shout the crew to their battle stations. "Look, I'm pretty sure they're friendly."

The captain still ignored him--he got kind of crazy when it looked like their might be a battle; he tended to flail his arms a lot and had to be watched so he wouldn't trip over the cannons--but Spencer lowered his spyglass and looked at Brendon curiously. "What makes you say that?"

"It's _The Black Parade_ ," Brendon said.

"How do you know? It's too dark to see them clearly."

"I can tell."

Spencer raised one eyebrow.

Brendon sighed. "A little birdie told me, okay? Really, we're not going to fight them. Trust me."

Spencer looked very skeptical, but he wandered off to talk to the captain.

"There are no birds out tonight."

Grinning, Brendon turned around. "No, but there are dolphins, Jon Walker. They want us to have a battle."

Jon grinned back. "Bloodthirsty little fuckers."

"They always are," Brendon said. "I told them they were going to be disappointed."

"Sucks for them," Jon said. "Awesome for us. I wonder what Captain Way and his merry band are up to tonight?"

It wasn't long before they were close enough to see that the other ship was, in fact, _The Black Parade_. Spencer gave Brendon another curious look, but Brendon had no time to explain. They busied themselves bringing the ship about and within hailing distance.

Even in the starlight, Brendon could see the white splashes of nonsense words and phrases that decorated the sides of _The Black Parade_. The painted words didn't say "surrender or die" or "abandon all hope" or anything that one might expect to find painted on the side of a verbose pirate ship; the messages were just bits of obscure randomness like "your eyes vacant and stained" and "tell me I'm an angel" and "can see you awake anytime," with the occasional "so's your mom" and "Bob wears lace corsets" thrown in here and there. Brendon didn't understand it at all, but hey, he sailed with a captain who liked to the paint the ship's masts with vines of blooming purple flowers, so he never thought much of it until he heard some pirates in Port-au-Prince whispering frantically about the Marks of Evil all over _The Black Parade_.

So he finally asked Spencer, and Spencer said, "I think that's Captain Way's method of demonstrating the importance of literacy to the uneducated masses."

"Oh." Brendon nodded, because that probably made sense if you were Captain Way. "So our paint is demonstrating the vital importance of botany to the flowerless masses?" He held his breath as soon as he said it, because Spencer could be a little bit touchy about people making fun of Ryan. But Spencer just cracked up and said, "Yes, _definitely_." Brendon beamed, feeling pretty damn proud of himself for making Spencer laugh _and_ being welcomed into the small circle of People Who Are Allowed To Mock The Captain.

Brendon was craning his head to one side trying to read some new words enthusiastically splashed on _The Black Parade_ \--he could make out the words "iguana" and "Brian" but nothing else--when the captain appeared at his side.

"Does this hat look okay?" Ryan asked. He was twisting the ends of his silver scarf nervously in his hands, and it was all Brendon could do not to roll his eyes.

"It looks fine." The hat was black with a jaunty, shiny black feather and a yellow silk flower affixed to its brim. "You look like you're ready for a festive funeral."

"A funeral? Is that bad?" Ryan looked so alarmed Brendon had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. He couldn't even be jealous of the great lengths Ryan went to in order to impress Captain Way, mostly because Brendon wasn't entirely sure Captain Way knew Ryan was the actual captain of an actual pirate ship rather than an oversized Bird of Paradise that had mysteriously acquired the ability to blush and stammer and stare at its feet when spoken to.

Ryan didn't have time to ask for further advice, because _The Black Parade_ was close enough for them to start talking--well, shouting, really. Spencer handled the communications because Ryan was too overcome by his sartorial crisis of confidence to form words.

"Ahoy, _Pretty Odd_!" Captain Way shouted. He was standing at the side of his ship, waving enthusiastically. In his black clothing he looked like a cheerful clergyman who'd wandered onto the ship looking for a fried fish supper. "How goes there?"

" _How goes there?_ " Spencer muttered under his breath incredulously. "What the fuck, that's not even a real question." Then he raised his voice and answered, "Fine. Just fine. What's up?"

The answer--a string of loud, rapid Italian--came from somebody standing beside Captain Way.

Spencer's mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile, and he shouted back, "That's what your mother said last night, Iero." Brendon was impressed; he didn't know Spencer knew Italian.

There was a burst of high-pitched giggles from _The Black Parade_. "You're not man enough to handle my mother, Smith."

They were too far away for Brendon to hear what Captain Way said after that, but it sounded a lot like, "Don't disrespect your mother, Frank." Iero's voice carried a lot better, and his replied, "Why not? Your mother does it every night," was loud and clear.

So did the, "Ew, gross, stop talking about our mother," that didn't come from either of them.

Brendon stood on his tiptoes until he spotted the telltale black-and-white striped shirt in the crowd of sailors around Captain Way. Captain Way's younger brother was the only other person Brendon knew of who could also talk to animals. Brendon only knew because a cockatoo told him once, so it wasn't like they'd ever talked about it or anything. That was a conversation Brendon didn't exactly know how to start--"Hey, you hear what the seagulls of Dominica were saying about the seagulls of Martinique?"--and mostly it was just nice to know he wasn't the only one. But he also wondered if Captain Way's guys were a bit more understanding about Mikey Way's strange talent than Brendon's were. _The Black Parade_ seemed like the kind of crew who believed in unbelievable things.

"Hey, there are zombies terrorizing a small island off the coast of Puerto Rico," Captain Way shouted. "You want to come along, help us kick some undead ass?"

Spencer rolled his eyes. "Last time we went with you to fight zombies it turned out to be a bunch of Portuguese monks who broke into a distillery."

"You don't have to be afraid, Smith," Iero said. "They only go after people with brains, so your crew will be perfectly safe."

"You would know," Spencer said, which was a pretty lame comeback by Spencer's standards, but he was already turning to look at Ryan so they could have one of their weird silent decision-making conversations. Brendon watched carefully and tried to figure out what they weren't saying: _Totally won't be zombies, but it might be fun,_ Spencer's raised eyebrow suggested, and Ryan's worried frown asked, _Don't lie to me, Spence, is this a stupid hat?_ A twitch of Spencer's shoulder assured him, _Of course it's a stupid hat, you don't own any other kind,_ and Ryan's expression shifted into a defiant, _Shut the fuck up, my hats are awesome, and what if it really is zombies?_ This was met by Spencer's disbelieving eye roll of, _Yeah, maybe it's zombies, or maybe it's just your big dumb crush on Captain Way,_ but Ryan's pursed lips insisted, _Wouldn't we feel stupid if we passed up a chance to prove to the world those guys aren't crazy?_ And finally their eyes met with, _Aren't crazy for chasing zombies, anyway,_ in unison, and Spencer flicked a quick glance to the side, right at Brendon. "Well?"

Brendon suffered a momentary panic thinking, holy shit, wow, maybe he could read minds too. Then he realized Spencer was only asking him a question. "Well what?"

"Is it very far out of our way?"

"Oh! No, not really, not very far," Brendon said. "We can go fight zombies. Or Portuguese monks. Or, hey, maybe it'll be Portuguese monks who turned into zombies. That would be cool."

"It's settled then," Ryan said imperiously. He turned away quickly, but Brendon saw the beginnings of a tiny smile. "We'll go."

Spencer shrugged and shouted back to the other ship, "Sure, what not? Lead the way."

They followed _The Black Parade_ through the night and into the morning. The sun was high and hot by the time they reached the island. From a distance it looked peaceful and quiet.

Jon shaded his eyes and frowned. "Too peaceful," he said. "I don't trust peaceful, quiet islands."

"It is too quiet," Brendon agreed. "Maybe they already all ate each other." Brendon wasn't looking forward to finding the remains of an undead cannibalistic feast, but he secretly hoped all the fighting was already over. He didn't want to have to chop anybody's head off; it was a lot harder to do with a sword than it looked.

In a cove there was a little village built along the shore, but there were no fisherman on the water, no sign of anybody about. They anchored the ships and lowered the boats, piled in with swords and knives in hand (or in Zack's case, clenched fiercely between his teeth), and rowed across to the sandy beach. The men and women of _The Black Parade_ began searching the village immediately, and after a moment's hesitation Ryan ordered his crew to do the same.

"Try not to get killed," he said, glaring at the village from under the wide brim of his hat. "That would really suck."

From Captain Ross, that was a veritable St. Crispin's Day speech, so they climbed out of boats and began scouring the village for any sign of life. The buildings were completely empty, but they hadn't been for very long. There were half-eaten suppers left on tables, clothes still hanging from the lines, embers smoldering on hearths, but all of the inhabitants were gone.

All of them, that is, except for two dogs.

A pair of terriers sat at the edge of the jungle, watching the pirates sneak through the village with bored disinterest. Brendon glanced around to make sure nobody was watching, then knelt and said to the dogs, "Good morning."

"And a jolly fine day to you, lad," one of the dogs replied cheerily. "Fine day for an invasion, isn't it?"

"Is that what happened?" Brendon asked. "Where is everybody?"

The other dog was not so cheerful. "Bloody nuisance is what it is. Bit of a to-do, bit of a la-dee-dah, and suddenly everybody is running about like madmen."

"Now, Reginald, don't be like that," the first dog scolded gently. "You know how skittish humans can get."

"Delicate nerves, hmph." Reginald the dog scratched his ear disdainfully.

"It was quite a surprise," the other dog said to Brendon. "The ship came out of nowhere."

"What ship?" Brendon asked in alarm. "There's another ship?"

"There's always another ship," Reginald muttered darkly. "You pirates, you can't leave decent folk alone, can you?"

Brendon twisted around to look back toward the water. "When did the other ship get here?"

"Just last night."

Reginald added, "Skulking in the dark like thieves."

Brendon thought about telling him that thieves often did, in fact, skulk in the dark like thieves, but he decided against it. There were other things to worry about, such as the fact that _The Black Parade_ would have heard about the rumored zombie invasion days before the other mysterious ship even arrived at the island.

"Which way did the other ship sail away?" Brendon asked without much hope of an answer. Dogs didn't have any sense of direction if their noses weren't involved.

"Oh, it hasn't left yet," the dog told him. "It's 'round the other side of the island. Just follow that trail there."

Sure enough, there was a narrow but well-beaten path leading into the jungle. Brendon put his hand on the hilt of his sword and stared at the trail. He should go back and get somebody, he thought, if he was going to leave the village. He had no idea what could be lurking in the jungle. On the other hand, he didn't want to explain that he was following a trail just because a terrier told him to, not with everybody already on edge because of the creepy empty village.

After a bit of deliberation, Brendon decided to go a little ways down the trail, just to see where it went. He thanked the dogs for their help and set off.

The heavy jungle foliage closed quickly around him, and Brendon had gone no more than about one hundred feet when he could no longer see the village behind him. The trail was easy enough to follow so he didn't stop, but he did draw his sword--to cut away branches that blocked the trail, he told himself, no other reason. Once he stopped to ask a spider if it had seen anything strange, but spiders weren't terribly observant and had a very peculiar definition of strange, so after listening to twenty lines of a rhyming ode about glistening raindrops, Brendon excused himself and hurried along.

The trail climbed a steep hill, and Brendon was panting and sweating by the time he reached the top. He saw blue water glistening through the trees. He ducked low and crept forward slowly, cautiously, until he caught a glimpse of the other ship through a break in the trees.

He couldn't tell if the ship was familiar, so he crawled forward a few more feet and squinted into the morning sun. The flag waving from the ship's foremast was black, but instead of a grinning Jolly Roger it was adorned with a coiled serpent, poised to strike. Brendon's mouth dropped open in shock.

Scrambling to his feet, Brendon spun around to run back to the village. But before he made it five feet, he heard the crack of footsteps crunching over branches and the unmistakable sound of somebody clearing his throat. Brendon raised his sword and braced himself, but he wasn't fast enough. There was a blur of motion, the swoosh of something swinging through the air, and everything went dark.


	2. Chapter 2

When Brendon was a kid, he used to daydream about running away and sailing the seas, escaping England's tame and stifling shores and experiencing all the wide world had to offer. Then he did run away, and he learned to sail and fight and read the stars and tie forty-seven kinds of knots and talk to animals and shoot cannons and steal pretty scarves from merchants' daughters and write bad poetry about dashing pirate captains, and it was brilliant, everything he had dreamed about and more. He was still amazed sometimes how many new experiences an adventurous life of piracy had to offer.

Like getting knocked over the head and locked in cage.

That was definitely a new one.

" _Ow_."

Brendon reached up and fingered his forehead gingerly. There was dried blood all down the side of his face, but the wound wasn't bleeding anymore, even though it hurt like hell. It was also the least of his problems, he decided. The strong metal bars surrounding him were a matter of more immediate concern. He shook the cage experimentally but it didn't budge, and he didn't have anything with which to pick the lock. Both his sword and his knife were lying on the ground several feet away, well out of reach.

He was considering his options--screaming at the top of his lungs seemed like a good idea--when a shrill voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Oh, good sir! Have you come to rescue me?"

Brendon winced at the sound and twisted around awkwardly to see a tall, willowy woman stumbling out of the jungle on the far side of the clearing.

"How very brave you are!" she cried, clasping her hands to her chest. "How daring and strong!"

"Um, actually," Brendon said, "I'm kind of locked in a caged. I don't think I can--" He stopped. And blinked. " _William_?"

The woman, who in spite of the bedraggled white dress and fetching lace-trimmed bonnet was definitely not a woman at all, looked down at Brendon and frowned.

"Oh, bugger," William said, dropping the falsetto. "It's only you." He collapsed to the ground beside Brendon's cage, every pointy angle of his limbs conveying extreme disappointment. "I was hoping for somebody a lot cooler. It's about time for a daring rescue."

Brendon was a little bit insulted by the implication that he couldn't pull off a daring rescue, but as he was, in fact, locked in a cage, he let it go. "Bill, what the hell are you doing here? And why are you wearing a dress?"

William sighed. "I was kidnapped."

"What, again?"

"Yes, _again_ ," William snapped. He tossed his head haughtily. "That's seventeen times now. I've totally beaten Lady Simpson's record."

"Cool. Congratulations."

"Thank you."

That didn't exactly explain the dress and the bonnet, but Brendon wasn't sure he wanted to know. Jon, who used to work for William's father, Lord Beckett, claimed that William had been mistaken for a noblewoman and kidnapped by pirates so many times he occasionally forgot that he wasn't technically what they were looking for. "It's unhinged his mind," Jon had said wisely. Given the evidence at hand, Brendon was inclined to agree.

"Where are your kidnappers?" Brendon asked. "Who is it this..." He remembered in a flash the ship he'd seen, and the flag billowing in the breeze, the menacing silver serpent on its black expanse. "Oh."

"My, my, little one, what a pleasant surprise."

Brendon turned around slowly--mostly because the cage was so small it took him forever to figure out where to put his arms and legs--and looked up.

"Hello," he said, trying desperately to hide the tremor in his voice. "What's a crazed lunatic like you doing in a nice place like this?"

The Cobra smiled down at him, and it made Brendon's neck ache to look up at him. The Cobra was very tall, and silhouetted against the sun he looked like a massive, shadowy spider, if massive, shadowy spiders wore trousers and shirts made from stitched together from scraps of multicolored and brightly-patterned fabrics. "I have come to this godforsaken isle to find my revenge."

"Why? Did you lose it?"

"You amuse me, small person, and that is why I let you live." The Cobra strode forward, drawing his knife from its sheath and running a fingertip along the long, silver blade. "You and your colorful companions were not part of my plan for vengeance, but I can work with it. I have been looking for a new pet."

Brendon didn't like the sound of that at all. He didn't know much about the pirate everybody called the Cobra, not much more than the stories. But the stories were enough. Captain Wentz of the _Cork Tree_ claimed to have spent three months locked in the Cobra's dungeon before he managed to gnaw his way out of the shackles and escape to safety. That was a long time ago, when Ryan and Spencer were still part of Captain Wentz's crew and before they won the _Pretty Odd_ from him in a game of checkers, and everybody was a little bit vague about the details. ("Patrick told me it was actually a root cellar, not a dungeon, and silk stockings rather than shackles," Spencer had confided once.) But it was enough for Brendon to be certain he very much did not want to be the Cobra's new pet.

"I'm not house-trained," Brendon said. "I'll chew on your shoes. I make a terrible pet, honestly. Just ask anybody."

"We shall see," the Cobra said ominously. "We shall see."

Before Brendon could ask what he meant, several other people came into the clearing. He recognized them as members of the Cobra's crew. One was the woman they called Asher, who everybody said was the real brains behind the Cobra's operation. She glanced at Brendon but ignored him after, speaking with the men of the crew quietly at the edge of the jungle. Another one of the Cobra's men--Blackinton, that was the name Brendon remembered--took considerably more interest in their prisoner. He loped over and crouched beside Brendon, grinning maniacally and poking a sharp stick through the bars of the cage.

"Ouch," Brendon said.

"Don't encourage him," William said lazily. He leaned back on his elbows and pulled up his voluminous petticoats to sun his hairy legs. "He'll just do it more."

Blackinton grinned wider and poked Brendon again.

It went on like that for some time: Blackinton grinning and poking Brendon with a sharp stick, Brendon saying, " _Ouch_ ," and glaring, William snoring as he napped on the ground. The sun rose higher and the day grew hot, and Brendon's arms and legs ached from being folded awkwardly in the tiny cage. The Cobra swept around the clearing, ordering his crew about, stopping every few minutes to stare down at Brendon and make thoughtful, "Hmmm," noises.

Brendon shoved Blackinton's stick away and asked William, "What are they waiting for?"

Yawning, William said, "Captain Way and his traveling freakshow. I do hope they get here soon to liven things up."

"The story about the zombie invasion was a trap?"

William nodded without opening his eyes.

Brendon thought about what the Cobra had said earlier. "Why does the Cobra want revenge against Captain Way?"

William waved one hand airily. "Oh, the usual. Eternal blood feud."

"Oh. Okay." Spencer was going to be so pissed when he found out they'd followed Captain Way's zombie mission right into a trap.

Luckily--Brendon was pretty bored too--they didn't have to wait much longer.

There were shouts in the jungle all around, and just as the Cobra's crew was reaching for their weapons, a whole bunch of people raced into the clearing. Ryan was leading the charge, more or less, but when he saw Brendon in the cage he stopped so quickly Jon plowed into his back.

Ryan stared at Brendon while Spencer helped Jon to his feet, then turned away slowly. The Cobra was standing about ten paces from him, watching in amusement. Ryan drew his sword, and Brendon heard Spencer mutter a very distinct, "Oh, _shit_." Ryan strode forward until he was face-to-face--well, face-to-chest--with the Cobra, the feather of his hat bobbing threateningly beneath the Cobra's nose, his sword pointing directly at the Cobra's throat.

"Let him go," Ryan said flatly.

The Cobra looked down at Ryan and laughed. "Your sword is made of wood."

Ryan didn't even blink. "That's so it will hurt more when I cut out your heart. Let him go."

"Dude, that's hardcore," Jamia whispered. Brendon jumped; she and a few others from _The Black Parade_ had appeared out of nowhere right beside him. _The Black Parade_ had very stealthy women on board. "The frilly shirts are totally a front."

"Yeah," Brendon sighed. "Totally."

He was pretty sure the Cobra was about to snap Ryan in half with his bare hands, so he figured this wasn't a good time to reveal that the real reason Ryan was carrying a wooden sword was that he had once nearly cut off his own hand during knife-throwing practice. The rest of the crew had taken to replacing his weapons with fake ones when he wasn't looking, and sometimes they forgot to switch them back.

The Cobra's stepped forward menacingly, and Ryan didn't step back. Brendon wanted to shout or rattle his cage or burst into tears or something, because Ryan was so stupidly brave that he was going to die horribly trying to save Brendon, and it was all Brendon's fault, and Brendon would never get up the nerve to tell him how pretty his eyes were.

The Cobra opened his mouth to say something, or maybe just cackle evilly, but instead his eyes widened.

" _You_ ," he hissed. He shoved Ryan and his sparkly wooden sword aside. Ryan stumbled backward, right into Spencer. The Cobra said, "I've been waiting for you."

Everybody in the clearing swiveled their heads to look: Captain Way and the rest of his crew had arrived.

" _You_ ," said Captain Way.

The Cobra glared. Captain Way glared. There was an awful lot of glaring going around. Brendon's legs were falling asleep again.

"Oh, _great_ ," Jamia muttered. "Here we go."

William sat up eagerly and adjusted his skirts around him. "This is where it gets good."

"I don't understand," Brendon said. "Since when do the Cobra and Captain Way have an eternal blood feud between them?"

"Since like six weeks ago," Jamia explained. "It started when Gabe stole Gerard's pet hamster to feed to his pet snake, then Gerard stole the snake to feed to Mikey's cat, then Gabe stole the cat to feed to Ryland."

"Ever since then," Lindsey said, "it's been 'a curse upon your lily-livered soul' this and 'a pox upon your stinking pig-house' that, pretty much non-stop."

"It's gotten pretty ugly," Alicia put in. "They're talking about making t-shirts and everything."

"I'm all for stealing Ryland to feed to Bob, but Bob hasn't agreed to that yet," Jamia said. She seemed disappointed.

"It sounds awful," Brendon said. He was glad his captain didn't have an eternal blood feud with anyone. And he had always liked Captain Way's pet hamster; Mister Thrasher was the only hamster Brendon ever met who enjoyed finger-painting. "But, you know, it looks like they're going to be glaring at each other for a while, so d'you think you could...?"

With a flourish, Jamia produced a hairpin from someplace on her person nowhere near her hair, and she grinned. "You want out of that cage, kid?"

Brendon didn't even bother to hide his relief. "Yes, please."

She made quick work of the lock and the door swung open. Brendon crawled out and climbed to his feet, wincing and stumbling a little. Jon was at his side in an instant, putting one hand to Brendon's elbow and whispering, "Hey, man, you okay?"

"Yeah." Brendon swallowed and shook his legs, trying to work out the cramps. "Yeah, fine."

"Maybe we should..." Jon gestured toward the forest.

"Yeah, we should," Brendon said. "They don't really care about us anyway."

Jon nodded. "Right. Okay. Spence?"

The Cobra and Captain Way had progressed from glaring threateningly at one another to occasionally flaring their nostrils as their crews exchanged insults. They didn't even notice when Spencer dragged Ryan and his wooden sword away and said, "This is the part where we slip away unnoticed and avoid getting killed, okay?"

For a second it looked like Ryan was going to argue, or maybe launch himself at the Cobra to beat him with the wooden sword. "Fine," he huffed. He stared at Brendon hard for several seconds, as if he didn't quite believe Brendon could be so stupid as to have gotten locked in a cage, then gave in and let himself be dragged. "We'll leave."

They didn't slip away entirely unnoticed--Blackinton chased after Brendon with his pointy stick and William called out cheerily, "Don't be a stranger, pet!"--but just when it looked like the Cobra might consider putting his eternal blood feud on hold in order to recapture his new pet, the jungle around them erupted with noise.

"What the--" Before Brendon could finished asking, the stench hit him. It smelled like something dead, something rotting, something _awful_ , and he could tell from the gagging sounds and wrinkled noses all around that everyone else agreed. "What is that?"

"Dead people," Jon said, pointing. "The villagers, I think."

Sure enough, the villagers were emerging from the jungle in a slow, shambling mess of ragged clothes and gray skin. They looked like they'd been zombified for quite some time, and they didn't seem to have much energy for person-hunting and brain-eating. A few of them moaned lethargically, and one old lady tried to play with Toro's hair.

William swatted at one undead interloper and said, "This is a surprise. I assumed the villagers were just hiding in the jungle from the Cobra's fearsome presence."

Across the clearing, the Cobra's expression of profound shock indicated that he'd been assuming the same thing.

"Right," Ryan said. "I think we should run."

"We could probably stroll and still escape them," Spencer pointed out.

"We can do cartwheels for all I care," Jon said, "but we should leave, now."

They ran, the echo of Captain Way's gleeful exclamations--" _This is so fucking cool! Mikey, do you see this? Real zombies!_ "--following them through the jungle.

Nobody said anything until they were rowing away from the village, a ragged crowd of undead villagers watching from the shore.

"So zombies are real," Jon said, looking over his shoulder toward the island. "And the Cobra got caught in his own trap. That's pretty cool."

Everybody else murmured in agreement.

Ryan scowled. "Let's see if we can get back to the ship without anybody else getting locked in a cage, okay?"

"Dude, chill," Spencer said. "It wasn't--"

Ryan turned so quickly he rocked the boat, and for one wild second Brendon thought he was going to hit somebody. But instead he whipped out his wooden sword again, swung it high, and flung it into the water. "You think we can do that?" he said, after the sword sank out of sight. "Or is that too much to ask?"

The murmuring stopped, and they rowed in silence. They knew better than to say anything when the captain was in one of his moods.

When they were back on the ship and heading away from the island, Jon made Brendon sit down so he could clean up his wounds. Before he even got started, Ryan walked over like he was going to ask one of them something--Jon, definitely, since he wasn't even looking at Brendon--but he changed his mind, turned on his heels, and stomped away without a word.

"Just ignore him," Jon said. He wrung out a damp cloth and dabbed at the blood on Brendon's face. They didn't have a surgeon onboard anymore, not since the last one had gone ashore at Montserrat "just to see where all that smoke is coming from, don't you think it's weird?" and was never seen again. "He's just being..." He waved one hand over his head; Brendon had no idea what that was supposed to mean. "He'll get over it. Stop squirming. This is totally disgusting. What the hell did they hit you with, a rock?"

Brendon shrugged and looked down at his lap. "I didn't see." That would just be perfect. That was exactly how daring and dashing pirates always got captured, by listening to stupid dogs and following stupid trails and getting hit on the stupid head with stupid rocks.

"I think it looks worse than it is," Jon said. "You hurt anywhere else?"

Brendon shrugged again. "Not really." He had a lot of mysterious scrapes, probably from being dragged through the jungle, and bruises from Blackinton's pointy stick, but nothing serious. Brendon squinted into the afternoon sun. The island was diminishing quickly to a dark green lump on the water. "Do you think we--I mean, we just left them there with a whole bunch of zombies."

"They weren't very scary zombies," Jon pointed out. "And that's, like, Captain Way's most cherished dream come true. They'll be fine."

"I guess," Brendon said. He knew it was most likely true. _The Black Parade_ got into and out of more improbable and unexpected scrapes than any other ship on the sea. "It's just, you know, we ran away. I think everybody was looking forward to a good fight."

"Well, Ryan wasn't about to..."

"About to what?"

Jon glanced away briefly, and when he looked back at Brendon his expression was thoughtful. "He was really mad when Mikey Way told us where you were."

"Yeah, well," Brendon said, suddenly annoyed and very tired. "So I suck at following orders. Big surprise."

"No, I don't mean--" Jon frowned. "I mean, we were worried. How did Mikey even know what happened?"

Brendon didn't feel like explaining about talking terriers and sonnet-composing spiders, so he only said, "Sorry. It won't happen again."

Jon looked like he was going to say something else, but after a moment he only smiled and said, "Go rest your broken head, Brendon."

"I have to--"

"We can manage without you for a few hours," Jon said firmly. He held Brendon to his feet and put an arm around his shoulder as he steered him toward the hatch. "But I promise we'll wake you up if we run into any giant rocks."

~

  
The _Pretty Odd_ sailed east for a few days. The sun was brilliant and warm, the wind strong and in their favor. The crew recovered from their disappointment at not getting to fight zombies and returned to their normal cheerful selves.

Except for the captain.

"He's not even talking to me," Brendon said. "I mean, not at all, not even to give orders or anything."

"You should give him a clam," a gull said.

"I don't think that will help."

"You're wrong," the gull said cheerfully. "There's nothing a gift of bivalves can't fix."

Brendon rolled his eyes. There was a reason he didn't usually ask seagulls for advice about his personal life, but it wasn't like there was anybody else he could talk to. Everybody on board knew he was the reason for the captain's bad mood, and it was like they were just waiting for him to screw up and do something really stupid again. Spencer kept giving both Brendon and the captain funny looks, like he couldn't decide which of them he wanted to fire out of a cannon most, and Jon couldn't seem to decide if his mediation duties as quartermaster were supposed to include the captain's own problems or not. Brendon spent a lot of time in the crow's-nest, listening to the gulls' inane gossip and wondering if he was making a huge mistake taking the ship on this wild treasure hunt. He was tempted to tell them to give up on the treasure, to go find something ordinary and easy to steal, to let somebody else decide where they were going and what they were doing. If there wasn't any treasure on this mysterious island, he didn't know if he would be able to handle their disappointment.

But he couldn't quite bring himself to do it. The longer they sailed, the more turtles and dolphins and fish Brendon talked to, the more convinced he became there _was_ something worth finding. All the animals told the same story--an island with a cave, lots of sparkly things and, weirdly, lots of flowers hidden inside--and they all agreed about where it was located.

More or less. It wasn't like animals used compasses to get around, and it was a few days before they finally found the island.

"I thought there was supposed to be an island somewhere around here," Ryan said.

It was mid-morning and they were standing at the bow of the ship. Brendon was at the helm, and the captain and others were crowded around him expectantly, as though they thought him could conjure an island out of the waves if only they hovered insistently enough. He wanted to tell them to go away and leave him alone so he could ask some birds or fish if there was land nearby.

"I don't see an island," Ryan said. He wasn't talking to Brendon, so Brendon didn't bother answering. "I thought there was supposed--"

"We heard you the first time, Ryan," Spencer said.

"I just think--"

"We'll find it," Jon said. Jon had a way of interrupting that never sounded like he was interrupting at all, and Ryan looked momentarily confused before he wandered a few steps away to cross his arms and lean on the rail and glare at everything within sight that wasn't Brendon.

Brendon appreciated the vote of confidence, but he only gave Jon a small smile. He was a little worried anything he wanted to say would come out as "Why aren't you talking to me?" or "I'm sorry I screwed up, really, really sorry" or "Find your own fucking island," so he didn't say anything at all. He kept his eyes on the water and his hands on the wheel, scanning the horizon for any sign of land.

They saw the clouds first. No more than a dark line to the north, resting atop the water like a shroud, and Jon was the first one to say, "Storm coming."

Only a few minutes later, the lookout on the crow's-nest bellowed, " _Land, ho!_ "

It was only a dark speck on the water, but Brendon knew it was their island. "That's it," he said. He adjusted course immediately, spinning the helm with practiced ease, and glanced up to see Ryan watching him, lips pursed like he was thinking about saying something. He remained silent, however, and Brendon looked away.

Spencer frowned. "That storm is moving awfully fast."

"I think it's using the same wind we're using," Jon said.

Spencer stuck his tongue out in reply, and Jon laughed.

The storm was moving awfully fast, but so were they, and the island rose before them quickly. It was more a large pile of rocks dotted with trees than a real island, but it looked exactly as Brendon expected. He steered them around to the leeward side and sure enough, there was the mouth of a cave yawning dark and ominous at the surface of the water.

"There," he said, pointing. "That's where we need to go." Glancing up, he eyed the rapidly darkening sky. "And, guys? I think we should get going before it gets too rough." The waves were already choppy, and it would soon be difficult to row the boat to the entrance of the cave.

"You're not going anywhere," Ryan said shortly. "You're staying here."

Brendon's mouth dropped open in surprise. After enduring several days of Ryan's inexplicable silent treatment, that was the last thing he expected to hear.

It was Spencer who said, "What? He can't stay here. He's the only one who knows anything about this cave we're looking for."

Ryan crossed his arms and scowled but didn't look at Brendon. "It's a cave. I think we can manage."

"Okay," Spencer said slowly, "let's try that again: _what?_ "

"There's a fucking storm coming. He needs to stay--"

"I can stay behind, if that's what you need," Jon offered, but they both ignored him.

"We have a whole crew of people who can take care of the ship, but only one person who knows how to find the treasure."

"He can tell us--"

" _He_ is still standing right here," Brendon said. He waved his arms too, but it didn't do any good. Once Spencer and Ryan started glaring at each other in silent, fuming argument nothing short of a thirty-gun greeting from a Spanish galleon would get them to stop. Brendon sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes toward the rapidly darkening heavens. "Okay, whatever. You guys just tell me when you're done fighting, then we'll go find some treasure, okay?"

Jon patted his shoulder sympathetically. "I always like to pretend they're fighting about hats when they get like this," he said.

Brendon smiled in spite of himself. It wasn't entirely implausible, but he had a feeling this particular silent argument was going more like _You're stupid_ and _No, you're stupid_ and _Shut up, I'm the captain_ and _Only because you cheated on the coin toss_ and _You still have to do what I say_ and _Not when you're being a dick_ and so on.

Finally Ryan growled in frustration and spun around. "Fine! But if he gets kidnapped and locked in a cage _again_ , we're not rescuing him _again_."

"You didn't rescue me last time," Brendon muttered. "The girls from _The Black Parade_ did."

Ryan's head snapped around so fast Brendon was surprised they didn't hear something crack. "I didn't--but we went--"

"Go," Spencer said, shoving Ryan and gesturing for Jon and Brendon to follow. "Boat. Row. Cave."

Somehow they managed to row to the mouth of the cave without smashing the boat on the rocks, and they managed to do it without saying a single word. It would probably be impressive, Brendon thought, if they weren't all too angry to be impressed.

The mouth of the cave was small and narrow, sheltered from the surf by a row of jagged rocks but just tall enough that it would still be open at high tide. Their oars scraped on the rock as they rowed through. Once they were inside Spencer lit a torch from their lantern and held it high, filling the cool, damp cave with dancing yellow light.

"Look." Jon pointed to the far side of the cave. The waves had carved the rock into arches and columns all around them, but across the cave there was a ledge that looked somewhat less natural.

And--Brendon squinted in the dim light to make sure his eyes were playing tricks on him--a staircase that was _definitely_ not natural.

"We'll go up there," Ryan said. His voice echoed weirdly from the cave walls.

"I don't think--" Brendon broke off and shut his mouth.

Jon poked his shoulder. "What don't you think?"

Brendon was thinking that dolphins and sea turtles couldn't climb steps, but what he said was, "I think the treasure is close to the water. I mean, where a boat could go. From what I heard," he finished lamely.

Ryan frowned and started to say something, but Spencer interrupted him. "We'll split up," he said. "That way we can cover both. Don't argue," he said when Ryan opened his mouth again.

"I wasn't going to argue," Ryan snapped. "I was just going to say, I'll go with--"

"You and Brendon take the staircase," Spencer said. "Jon and I will stay on the water."

"I don't--"

"Good plan," Jon said. "We're better rowers than you two anyway."

Ryan started to protest, but a very pointed looked from Spencer silenced whatever he was going to say.

They rowed the boat toward the staircase until it bumped against the sloping stone, and Brendon jumped out. He turned automatically to help Ryan, but Ryan climbed out without taking his hand then turned back to take the torch Spencer held out.

Brendon dropped his hand awkwardly to his side. "Okay, we'll just... Oh, flowers."

Ryan looked at him. "Flowers?"

To Spencer and Jon, Brendon said, "Look for flowers. I think they might be... I don't know, but I think there are flowers."

"We're in a cave," Spencer pointed out. "Flowers don't grow in caves."

"I know, but I think... Just keep an eye out, okay?"

Spencer shrugged, but Jon promised, "Flowers, got it. We'll look for them."

"Check out where the stairs go and meet back here," Spencer said. "But no hurry. I don't think we'll be able to row back to the ship while it's storming."

Ryan looked up at the ceiling and said to nobody in particular, "I thought I was supposed to be the captain."

"And don't get lost," Spencer replied. He and Jon shoved away from the ledge and their oars sliced quietly through the water. The cave wasn't that big, but it seemed like they were very far away very quickly, a little bobbing boat in a ring of firelight. Then they passed through an archway in the stone and the cave darkened.

"You coming?"

Ryan was standing at the bottom of the staircase, torch in hand, his voice laced with impatience. Brendon bit back a sigh. "Yeah. I'm coming. Lead the way, _mon capitan_."

But Ryan hesitated. "Do you think we will?"

"Will what?"

"Get lost. What if there are, like, passages or something?"

"Well, right now, it's just a staircase," Brendon said. "I think even you would have trouble getting lost on a staircase." Ryan looked a little bit hurt by that, but Brendon refused to feel bad. "Oh, whatever. Let's go. We won't get lost. You can roll out your scarf like Ariadne's thread." When Ryan still didn't move, Brendon shoved him lightly. "I'm a _navigator_ , Captain. Excellent sense of direction. Honest."

"If we get lost, I'm holding you responsible."

"Wouldn't expect anything less." Brendon shoved him again and tried not to be pleased when Ryan rolled his eyes rather than scowled. "Let's go. I want to find a treasure."

The stairs were too narrow for them to walk side by side, so Ryan went first and Brendon followed. The staircase was rough and twisting, climbing steeply for a ways before leveling out in a corridor so low Ryan's hat brushed against the ceiling. The walls were cold and gray, dripping with water in the torchlight. In some places there were weird faces and shapes carved into the walls.

"It looks like they're staring at us," Ryan said, pausing to glare at a carving of a leering monkey.

"They're staring at you," Brendon told him. They totally were. They didn't even have eyes, just creepy hollows of darkness in their creepy monkey faces, but they were still staring.

Ryan lost his staring contest with the stone monkey and they continued along the corridor. They passed a few arched openings to other corridors, but each tunnel looker darker and danker then the last, and in spite of his reassurances he didn't want to take too many turns. They didn't talk, and over the sound of dripping water and their footsteps Brendon thought he could hear the storm howling outside, somewhere very far away. Brendon thought of a million things to say but decided not to say any of them He wished Ryan would say something so he didn't have to.

They hadn't been walking for very long, however, before they didn't have a choice.

"What." Ryan stopped, and Brendon nearly walked into his back. "What the fuck."

Almost immediately, the darkness before them was filled with a chorus of high-pitched, cheerful voices. " _Hello, hello. Hello, hello._ "

Brendon stood on his toes to see over Ryan's shoulder. The corridor ended in a long room. The walls were lined with monkey-face carvings and the floor was covered--completely, totally covered, Brendon actually blinked several times to make sure he wasn't imagining it--

"This room," Ryan said, "is covered with tiny green frogs."

" _Hello, hello,_ " the frogs chirped. " _Hello, hello._ "

"Hello," Brendon said. He pushed by Ryan and stepped into the room, watching where he put his feet so as not to crush any of them. They scattered obligingly. "This is a nice cave you have."

Ryan rolled his eyes. "Are you talking to the frogs? What are they saying?"

"They're saying hello," Brendon said. "Frogs are very polite."

"Oh, sure."

" _Hello, hello_." Frogs were very polite, but that also meant every one of them had to say hello, and there were a lot of them. They were kind of like a tiny, hopping, well-mannered Greek chorus. " _Hello, hello. Oh, don't touch that!_ "

Brendon frowned. "Don't touch--hey, Captain, don't--"

" _Oh, dear. Oh, dear,_ " the frogs chanted.

Ryan had one hand resting on the face of a monkey carving on the wall of the cave. "Don't what?"

"Don't touch anything," Brendon finished. "I don't think--I don't think we should touch anything."

"Why not?"

The frogs offered, " _Watch out, watch out. This isn't good._ "

Brendon scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Because the frogs are saying that we shouldn't."

"Because the--" Ryan dropped his hand from the wall and stared at Brendon incredulously. "Oh, well, if the _frogs_ say so, then we definitely--"

The frogs' voices rose in an incomprehensible cacophony, so loud that Brendon almost didn't hear the solid _click_ from within the wall. But he did hear it, a sound so strange and out of place in the cave he didn't even think about it, he just lunged forward to shove Ryan away from the empty eyes of the carved monkey. There was another _click_ , this one lost underneath Ryan's spluttering, "What the fuck are you doing?"

Brendon tried to answer, even got so far as opening his mouth and speaking, but what came out instead was, " _Ouch_."

" _Told you so, told you so,_ " the frogs sang.

Brendon looked down. There were two darts sticking out of his left arm. They were carved with tiny, intricate designs and fletched with colorful feathers, and they _hurt_.

They really, _really_ hurt.

"Ouch," he said again, more quietly. He reached for the darts with his other hand, but even the lightest touch sent a flash of white-hot pain through his arm, down to his fingers and across his shoulders. He gasped and stumbled, his legs suddenly weak and unreliable.

Ryan was at his side in a heartbeat. "Hey, hey, what is--Brendon? Let me just--are you okay?"

Brendon thought that answer to that should be pretty fucking obvious, but when he tried to answer all that came out was a pained groan. He sunk to the ground, sharply aware that the captain's tight grip kept him from falling on his face. "Take them," he started. Forming words seemed to require more concentration than it should. "Out. It, _fuck_ , take--"

"Okay, okay. Just, don't move, let me... Okay."

Brendon's arm hurt so much already it barely registered when Ryan pulled the darts out. "I think, um." He tried to look down at his left arm, half-certain it had to be on fire or melting away or _something_ , it hurt so much. And it was spreading down to his fingers, along his shoulders, down his side. "Something... there was something on them?"

"What?" Ryan's voice rose in alarm. "You mean--no, no, no, _no_ , you are _not_ allowed to be fucking _poisoned_ , you asshole, you are not fucking _allowed_ \--"

"Sorry," Brendon said. It came out in a small whisper, too soft to be heard over the ceaseless chirping of the frogs. "Didn't mean to."

"Maybe we can, maybe we can tie it off or, or something--hey. Hey!" Ryan shook him, and the part of Brendon's mind that wasn't thinking about how much it hurt was thinking that it was kind of strange to see the captain so worked up like this. "Stay with me, Brendon. Don't close your eyes.

That was asking an awful lot, but Brendon tried to obey. Somehow he ended up lying flat on his back on the cold, damp stone, his head lolled to the side. The torch was lying on the stone beside him, flickering wildly, and the slick green floor beneath it was hopping away from him.

"That's weird," he said.

"What? Brendon, are you still with me?"

"Where are you going?" Brendon asked.

The frogs chirped, " _Flowers, flowers_ ," and Ryan said in confusion, "I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here."

Brendon repeated, "Flowers?" His mouth was dry and his throat was starting to hurt like everything else. "Why?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Ryan said. "There are no flowers, Brendon. Are you, fuck, are you hallucinating?"

" _Poison, poison_ ," the frogs chanted. They were streaming toward the entrance of the room in a solid, hopping wave. " _Hurry, hurry. This way to the flowers, this way._ "

"Will that help?" Brendon asked. "Will the flowers--"

" _Hurry, hurry._ "

"Brendon--" Ryan was patting his face, trying to catch his attention.

Brendon reached up and grabbed his hand. "You have to follow the frogs."

Ryan's hand stilled. "What?"

"Follow the frogs. Find the flowers."

" _What?_ "

"They're the antidote, the flowers."

"How the hell do you--"

"The frogs told me," Brendon said. He closed his eyes and tried to take a deep breath, but it didn't do any good, he couldn't get enough air. "Follow them. They'll show you."

"You need to shut the fuck up," Ryan snapped. He sounded angry, so angry, and his hand was squeezing Brendon's good arm painfully. "I'm not going to fucking leave you here."

"It's okay," Brendon whispered. "Trust me. Frogs don't lie."

If Ryan said anything else, Brendon didn't hear it. The frogs were shrieking too loud, the stone underneath him was too cold, and he tried to keep his eyes open, he really tried, but it was too difficult and his eyes slipped shut.

When he opened them again, the monkey-carved cave was gone. There was a slanted wooden ceiling overhead and sunlight streaming through a window. Brendon rubbed his eyes; the room was familiar. He hadn't seen it in years and it was all wrong, it was _impossible_. He recognized the room, the narrow bed and low doorway, the crooked floor and musty smell.

And the people standing over his bed. He recognized them too.

"Dad?" Brendon pushed himself up on his elbows. His arm didn't hurt anymore; he couldn't feel anything anymore. "Mom? What are--" His parents weren't alone. His brothers were standing behind them, his sister by the doorway with her head bent and a handkerchief pressed to her mouth. "What's going on?"

His mother sighed, and his father stared at the bed as though he didn't even see Brendon.

"Dad? How did I get here? Where's--"

"Don't do this."

A flutter of motion caught Brendon's eye. He looked away from his parents reluctantly--he hadn't seen them for _years_ , but they looked exactly the same--just in time to see a bird, big and bright and covered with colorful plumage, alight on the window sill.

"Don't do this," the bird said. "Don't do this."

"Quiet," Brendon snapped. "I'm not talking to you." He shoved back the blankets and swung his legs to the floor, but then he blinked--just blinked, that's it, he wasn't even looking away--and his parents were turning away, following his brothers out of the room. "Wait! Mom, Dad--"

"Don't do this," the bird said.

"Shut _up_ ," Brendon snarled. And he blinked again--he was _trying_ not to, he was, but his eyes were dry and stinging, like there was smoke in the room even with no fire--and he was alone, just him and the colorful bird in his attic room. "Now look what you've done." He flopped back on his bed and closed his eyes, tried to ignore the twist in his stomach and bitter taste in his mouth.

"Stop being difficult," the bird said indignantly. It was weird how angry the bird sounded, and how familiar. "Do you want to die? You are not fucking allowed to die, okay? You're not _allowed_ , that's a fucking order."

It was really weird. Brendon opened his eyes again.

"Oh," he said. "Captain. I thought you were a bird."

"What?" Ryan was leaning over him, his eyes wide and overly bright in the light from the torch. "A bird--are you awake now?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so." He swallowed, then immediately winced. His throat hurt like hell, and there was a sharp, horrible taste in his mouth, like he'd been chewing on rusty metal. There was something in his mouth, and he reached up to pick it away. A flower petal. " _Yuck_ , gross. What--"

"You said--I did what you said, okay?" Ryan said urgently. He had one hand one Brendon's forehead, the other on Brendon's arm, and neither hurt as much as Brendon thought it should. "I followed the stupid frogs--god, they're creepy--and there were these flowers, in the _cave_ , they don't even grow in the sun, and--"

"Okay," Brendon said. That explained the flower petal, but Ryan was giving him a bit of a headache. "And it--did it work?"

"I don't know. Are you still dying?"

Brendon thought about making a face at that, but his head really did hurt, and Ryan didn't sound like he was mocking. He sounded--well, if Brendon didn't know better, he would say Ryan sounded scared. "I think I'm okay," he said. He moved his arms and legs, turned his head. The stone was damp and cold and he ached all over, but it wasn't like before, he didn't feel like he was on fire from the inside. "Huh, magical flowers. Cool."

"That's not funny," Ryan snapped.

Brendon didn't really think it was funny either, so he only said, "I'm going to sit up now."

It was easier said than done, but when he swayed unsteadily Ryan slipped an arm around his shoulders to hold him up. Brendon closed his eyes until his head vision stopped swimming, let himself lean into Ryan even though he knew it was a bad idea. Ryan had the body mass of a skeleton, but he was warm and strong and his arm around Brendon felt nice, really nice.

"Thanks," Brendon murmured.

"What for?"

"For, you know." He leaned his head on Ryan's bony shoulder. "Saving my life with the magical flowers."

Ryan stiffened, and his hand squeezed Brendon's upper arm so tight it was almost painful, then he was moving away and speaking very quickly, "Do you feel better now? I mean, can you walk? Can you--we should get out of here, I don't like this--I think we should go. Can you walk?"

Brendon managed not to say, "No, I can't walk, sit back down so I can pretend we're cuddling some more," but it was a close thing. "Yeah," he sighed. "Let's get out of here."

Ryan held out a hand and hauled Brendon to his feet, and the frogs--now eerily silent, not a single peep--scattered as they left the room and made their way down the corridor. The stairs were difficult to manage, but Ryan went first, holding the torch and letting Brendon lean on his shoulder. When they reached the bottom he exhaled a huge sigh of relief and barely noticed when Ryan helped him sit down. Jon and Spencer weren't back yet, and the water in the cave was rough, the wind of the storm howling loudly at the entrance.

"You okay?" Ryan asked. He crouched beside Brendon, touched his face and tilted his chin up. "Brendon? Say something, okay?"

Ryan's fingers, the heat from the torch, both warmed his face, a sharp contrast to the cold, damp stone. Brendon closed his eyes. "Fine," he said. "Just tired."

"Okay. Okay. Just--"

A loud whoop echoed through the cave, and Ryan stood up quickly, taking the light and warmth with him. Brendon didn't want to open his eyes, he wanted to sleep, but he heard the slice of oars through the water and Jon's and Spencer's excited voices, so he had to look.

"We found it!" Jon shouted. "The fucking treasure, we found it!"

In all the excitement of almost dying, Brendon had forgotten about the treasure. "Yeah?" He stared in confusion; there was something shiny on Jon's head, and both he and Spencer were smiling widely.

Ryan held his torch high as the boat bumped against the stone. "You're wearing a crown."

"I'm wearing a diamond tiara," Jon said cheerfully. "You want it?"

"There's more where that came from," Spencer said. "But this whole fucking cave is booby-trapped, we have to--"

"We know," Ryan said sharply. "Brendon's hurt."

Jon and Spencer fell silent immediately.

"I'm fine," Brendon said, feeling a bit awkward under the scrutiny of three worried gazes. "Really, I'm fine. I want to see the treasure."

"It's a fantastic treasure," Jon said, as Ryan helped Brendon to his feet and into the boat again. "This is seriously the best treasure ever. You are a genius, Brendon."

Ryan looked skeptical, but Spencer said, "It seriously is. Get in, Ry. We'll show you."

Jon and Spencer chatted happily about jewels and gold, silver and silk as they rowed through the cave. Brendon watched the torchlight flickering on the water and pretended not to notice how warm and solid Ryan's shoulder felt pressed against his.

~

  
A couple days later they put down anchor at an uninhabited, un-booby-trapped island to take on water and sort through their loot. The crew were in excellent spirits, and every person on board congratulated Brendon on his treasure-finding and poison-surviving skills at least three times.

As the sun was setting, some of them started building a bonfire on the beach. A party sounded like fun, and they had a good reason to celebrate, but after the seventh time somebody challenged Brendon to a fake sword fight with the solid gold, bejeweled blades they'd found with the treasure, he wandered away from the commotion. He didn't venture into the jungle, just walked along the beach for a ways until the sand was interrupted by a spine of jagged black rock. He climbed up the rocks carefully, using his hands for balance and pausing for breath several times. At the top, he found a relatively smooth spot and sat down, squinting into the setting sun.

He still felt sore and achy all over, and he was getting a little tired of being fussed over. Well, of being fussed over by everybody except the one person he really wished was fussing over him. It was stupid to wish he was still in a cave dying from some horrible poison just because he wanted the captain to pay attention to him, but--well, it's not like he'd ever been able to help being stupid about Ryan before. At least he was talking to Brendon again, teasing and joking and acting like everything was normal.

"It's better than nothing," Brendon said with a sigh. "It's better than being ignored."

"You should give him a clam." The gull glanced up from where it was worrying at a barnacle and bobbed its head. "Works every time."

"I don't think it would work this time," Brendon told it. "Men are different from sea gulls in some matters."

"We can't fly, for starters."

Brendon looked up in surprise. "Hi."

Ryan picked his way over the sharp rocks and sat down beside him. He was wearing the diamond tiara, and the tiny stones glinted in the sun. "What wouldn't work this time?"

Brendon gestured at the gull. "He thinks I should give you a clam."

"Oh. Why?"

"Because that's how sea gulls court their..." Brendon trailed off. "Um. I mean." He ducked his head, but it was too late to hide his blush. He wished really hard, but the rock did not obligingly open up and swallow him whole. So he settled for staring at his hands and trying not to think about how Ryan was sitting close enough to touch, if he just shifted his knee a little bit. "Never mind."

"Clams, really? Does it work?" Ryan didn't sound freaked out or angry or anything. He sounded--well, Ryan pretty much always sounded the same, but Brendon spent a lot of time deciphering his sameness, and right now he sounded _amused_.

It was risky, so very risky, because Brendon knew once he started looking he wouldn't be able to look away, not with Ryan sitting right next to him and the sunset all glowing and warm. But he _had_ to look, so Brendon risked a glance.

Ryan was smiling, and Brendon momentarily forgot how to breathe.

When he remember how again, he admitted, "I dunno." He swallowed and hoped he sounded a lot calmer than he felt. "It probably works for gulls."

"Do gulls give good advice?" Ryan wasn't looking at Brendon. He was smiling at the water, one hand held up awkwardly shield his eyes, and Brendon was totally considering being jealous of the ocean.

"No," Brendon said. Ryan's hair was falling over his eyes, and Brendon's fingers itched to brush it back. "They give terrible advice. But that doesn't stop them from giving it to anybody who doesn't ask."

"Hey," the gull said, glaring at him.

Ryan nodded as though that made perfect sense. "I can think of a few things that might work better than clams."

"Yeah? Like what?"

Ryan didn't answer right away. The sunset made everything red and gold, bright and soft, and Brendon wanted to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

"Next time we end up someplace dangerous," Ryan said, "next time, I swear to god, I'm locking you in my cabin until it's safe again. I'll get Zack to carry you if I have to."

Brendon's mouth dropped open, and he knew he was gaping like a fish. "But--what? What do you--I'm sorry, okay? I know I shouldn't have--"

Ryan looked at him then, and something in his expression made Brendon stop. "I'm not mad at you," Ryan said. He sounded like he was both trying to be patient and trying not to laugh. "I'm--Brendon, you got kidnapped."

"I know," Brendon said, suddenly feeling very small. "I know, I know, and I'm--"

"You got locked in a _cage_ ," Ryan said, and wow, now that he was looking at Brendon it was pretty intense. He dropped his hand from his face and turned to face Brendon fully. "Do you have any idea what the Cobra could have done to you?"

Brendon didn't really have any idea, but he suspected it would have involved corsets. "Look, I'll be more careful," he began.

But Ryan went on, talking right over him. "And then you got poisoned and it was--it should have been me, I was being careless and stupid and--but you, you got hurt instead and that was..." Ryan looked down suddenly, and his voice was very soft when he said, "That really sucked."

"Yeah," Brendon said quietly. "For me too."

"I thought you were going to die," Ryan said. "I thought you were--"

"Oh. You were worried?"

"Worried?" Ryan looked up again, smiling crookedly. "I wasn't worried. I was fucking _terrified_. It was bad enough that you got captured looking for zombies, of all things..."

"Oh." Brendon felt strangely like he should apologize again, but instead he asked, "That's why you stopped talking to me?"

Ryan shifted uncomfortably. "It's possible that wasn't the best way to express my concern."

Brendon raised his eyebrows.

"Spencer told me I was being stupid."

"Well--"

"And Jon told me I was being mean."

"It's--"

"And Zack glared at me really menacingly."

"He does--"

"And Amanda asked me if the zombies had eaten my brains."

"The--"

"And the new kids--what are their names?"

"Alex," Brendon said weakly. "I think they're all named Alex."

"All of them? Well, they asked me why I didn't like you, because they thought--well."

After waiting a few seconds just in case there was more, Brendon said, "You have the nosiest, most gossipy, interfering crew in the entire Caribbean."

Ryan sighed. "I know. They're so annoying when they're right."

"They're right?"

Ryan leaned forward a little bit. "They might have a point."

"Might?" Brendon knew he sounded like an idiot, but he couldn't seem to say anything else.

"I really, really don't like it when you get hurt," Ryan said.

"Me neither," Brendon breathed. Ryan was close, so _close_ , and his eyes were wide and that stupid diamond tiara was sparkling, and Brendon was pretty sure he was dreaming.

Ryan brushed his lips over Brendon's, so soft it was barely a kiss. "Really, really don't like it," he whispered. Brendon thought he should say something, do something, but before he got a chance Ryan kissed Brendon again, longer and firmer this time. When he pulled back, he was still smiling, but it was a little bit uncertain now. "Brendon--"

"Hell, _yes_." Brendon started laughing, but before Ryan's expression could grow more uncertain Brendon kissed him again. He threaded one hand through Ryan's hair, knocking that ridiculous tiara askew, gripped Ryan's hand with the other, and laughing wasn't something Brendon normally associated with kissing, it really wasn't. He just couldn't help it, it was too fucking _awesome_ , and Ryan didn't seem to mind at all.

Brendon made a little sound of disappointment when Ryan pulled back this time, but Ryan didn't move away. He turned a little and put his arm around Brendon, pulling him close. Brendon leaned into him and rested his head on Ryan's shoulder. The sun was nearly down, setting the ocean and sky aflame, and they watched it sink below the horizon.

"So, yeah," Ryan said after a long, comfortable silence. "It would be really great if you could not almost die again, at least not for a few weeks."

"Yeah?" Brendon asked, pressing closer to Ryan's side. "What do I get in return?"

Ryan's voice was soft, teasing. "Maybe I'll give you a clam."

"Works every time," the gull said.


End file.
